Nym's Story
by SteelAndFire
Summary: This is the story of a boy who grows up in Menzoberranzan and gets in a lot of trouble. Last chapter finished, please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

For some reason, I have to start out referring to the main character of any story as "the boy". I don't know why. Sorry for how short this chapter is, I'm not sure whether I should continue writing on this story or not. This is my third fan fiction, my second attempt at a story. (I'm still writing on 'The Tooth', it's just not going along very fast). Thanks for checking this out!

The boy sat there. He was perhaps eight years old (as the drow measure time). He sat quietly, already knowing better than to open his mouth until he was spoken to, knowing better than to lift his eyes from the floor unless he was ordered to. He was uncomfortably aware of his sister's eyes on him, digging into him like the fangs of her whip.

"What," she began, her sharp, intense voice causing him to flinch slightly. "What in the Goddess's name made you think you were possibly capable of understanding that book?"

"I can read." he replied. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he'd made a mistake. He cringed further into the corner, hating himself both for being so afraid of her and for being so foolishly unafraid of her. He had found a book (one of hers) that she had been reading. It had been a little hard to figure out at first, but he thought he had been starting to get the idea. Not that he liked the idea; it had been 'an exploration of the doctrines of our Goddess'. He had continued to read the book, though, mostly because he liked reading such challenging material. Now he stared at the floor and bit his lip, waiting to be punished.

To his surprise, she did not snap her whip from her belt or shout out in anger. She dropped to her knees beside him, lifted his chin in one slender, dark-skinned hand, caught his eyes and held them. He had no choice but to stare back at her, angry and frightened at the same time.

"You can read," she said in that belittling tone he had grown to loathe. "You can see the words that people have written down and comprehend the language. But you simply cannot understand. Your weak, silly mind just does not have the power to decipher complex trains of thought." He glared at her. She smiled nastily. "And it never will." she added for good measure.

"I know." he said, also knowing he was really pushing her now. She released his chin and stood up again. He continued scowling at her, until she lifted an eyebrow, threatening, and he dropped his gaze again.

"Obviously, male, you do not know." she said. "Or you would also know better than to speak to me in such an insolent tone. I shall have to teach you." Then she did pull the whip out of her belt and whatever conflicting and confusing feelings the child was feeling at that moment, he quickly lost them all in the instinctive knot of terror blooming in his stomach. He whimpered and cowered, wanting to lift his small arms to protect himself, but afraid it would anger her, trying to force an apology out of his suddenly dry throat. He failed, but she wouldn't have cared anyway.

The boy slowly learned that he must not make his sisters, or his mother, or any female angry. If they were angry, they would hurt him. They had a right to do whatever they pleased to him, because he was weak and stupid and worthless. The only way to give any meaning to his existence was to serve them, to please them, because they were glorious and strong and powerful and clever. And if he pleased them, he thought to himself, maybe they wouldn't beat him so much.

A lingering bitterness lived inside him in the place of his old defiance. He knew he was foolish and weak, but he couldn't help hating it, hating himself and his terrible deficiencies. He cried himself to sleep for countless nights, wishing with every fiber of his young heart that he had been born under different circumstances, that he had come out perfect, unmarred by the sign of masculinity, able to make something out of himself.

But no one wanted to hear about his grief or confusion, no one cared about him. And why should they? He was, after all, just a male. He resigned himself to the dull emptiness of his existence.

The boy, Nym, was sixteen. He knelt silently on the floor before his matron mother.

"You will train to be a fighter." she was saying. "When you are ready for the Academy, you will be sent to Melee Magthere. Any stupid questions?"

"No, Matron Mother. Thank you, Matron Mother." He was terrified of her and it was all he could do to keep his trembling semi-invisible. He stared at the ground and tried to calm himself somewhat.

"Then get out of here." He rose quickly to his feet and backed out of the room.

Thanks for reading, please review:)


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, here's chapter 2. I think the chapters are going to stay pretty small, but I'll update as often as I can.

Outside the Matron's study, another male was waiting. He was tall, with the stark white hair, dark skin and crimson eyes characteristic of the race. His body was leanly muscled, tensed and alert, like some huge cat waiting to pounce. Right now, he was listening to the boy's oldest sister speak. She was apparently giving him some sort of instructions. Nym stood back, not wanting her to think he was eavesdropping. When she finished speaking, the weapons master nodded and gave a brief reply. He kept his eyes trained on the floor until she left.

When the high priestess had swept away, Nym and the weapons master both looked up at each other. The master's eyes were hard and dangerous, and despite the fact that he was just another male, Nym felt slightly afraid of him.

"You are the secondboy."

Nym nodded, not quite sure of how to behave.

"Follow me." and the weapons master walked off. Nym followed him down a series of corridors, a flight of stairs, a few more corridors, through a doorway and into a large, plain room.

"My name," said the master, shutting the door. "is Belgos. I am to instruct you in the basics of swordfighting. I advise you to study hard, to improve yourself so that someday you will be of value to this house."

All the old bitterness came rearing up inside the boy, "So if I study hard enough, I'll become female?"

"No." said the master. He regarded his student calmly.

"So what's the point?" Nym asked, spitting the last word.

The weapons master continued looking solemnly at him for a few moments, and then he would say no more on the subject. He directed the boy's attention to a rack of weaponry, finely crafted admantite swords, daggers, rapiers. "Experiment. Discover which weapon best suits you."

Nym gave him a quick searching glance, wondering what was up with this guy. Then he went over to the rack and examined the weapons. He picked up a sword, spun it around clumsily and accidentally dropped it. He quickly picked it up, looking over at the weapons master to see if he was laughing. Belgos was still watching him with that infuriatingly serene expression on his face. He saw the boy's embarrassment and smiled, almost kindly.

"Don't worry." he said, "They're hard to handle in the beginning. That's why I'm supposed to teach you."

Nym shrugged, not sure what to say. He decided in his mind that it was certainly more fun to be taught by a male than a female.

He continued to inspect the weapons, trying to figure out the strengths and weaknesses of each with his incredibly limited knowledge. Finally he settled on a well-crafted, plain shortsword.

He pulled it out and looked at Belgos, now seated on the floor some distance away, patiently watching him. The weapons master looked back at him, as if to say 'what?'.

"What now?" Nym asked. The master got to his feet and came over. He looked at the shortsword's twin, still on the rack. He picked it up and tossed it to him.

"Spin them around a bit." said the master. "See if you can use them both at once."

Nym tried, slashing clumsily at the air. Nonetheless, the master seemed to decide that he could use both, for he did not take the other away and put it back.

"Now," the master said. "I will teach you some basic techniques. Start with both weapons in ready position."

Thus began Nym's training. He was an excellent student and while strict, the weapons master did not hesitate to give praise where it was due.

As the boy learned, the gym became a kind of escape for him. There were no high priestesses, whips or other reminders of who he was here. He could forget his 'inferiority', forget all the conditioning that had been so throughly drilled into him. Here, with his swords in his hands, with his sweat running down his back, with the familiar sounds of weapon against weapon ringing in his ears, he was safe and strong and alive. 

Of course, at night, when the weapons were sheathed and the adrenaline had faded away, it all came rushing back. He knew now though, that there was absolutely nothing that could be done. He was weak and worthless and that was it. He was past crying over it, it would make the scars hurt worse. He just washed away the helplessness, forcing himself to forget. And then, the next morning, he could pull out his swords, sink into his world, and kill his weaknesses, one by one.

Finally, after many years of training, Belgos decided he was ready to attend the academy. Nym was not so sure, but as with so many other aspects of his life, he did not really have a choice. The matron came, to watch him spar. Nym had not seen her since he had started training.

She swept in, followed by his older sister. Her face was smooth, expressionless. Her whip writhed at her side, begging for a chance at his flesh. Fear woke up in the young man's heart at the sight of that weapon and he dropped to his knees before her, the scars on his back throbbing with a sudden intensity.

"Look at me." she ordered him. He drew in a deep breath and looked obediently up into her flashing red eyes. "So, boy," she said, vague amusement in her silky voice, "You think you're ready for the Academy?" His sister was standing beside him now, making him increasingly nervous.

He wanted to say that it wasn't he who thought he was ready, that it was Master Belgos, he wanted to politely ask his sister to please not kick him in the ribs, he wanted her to kindly go away and leave him alone so he could fall back into his safe world and never have to leave. Of course, he knew better than to say any of that.

Instead, he took another deep breath, forcing his mind to think fast so he wouldn't hesitate, wouldn't waste her time.

"I have been training for a long while, Matron Mother. I would be honored if you would allow me to attend the Academy." He knew his answer was not perfect, but he just hoped it wouldn't anger her too badly.

The matron's small, amused smile widened slightly. She nodded to the weapons master, kneeling unobtrusively off to one side. He got to his feet, swept a low bow to her and charged at Nym.

He was surprised, caught off guard. He rolled quickly to his feet and out of the master's way, drawing his swords as he went. He brought them into a defensive position in front of him, adjusting his stance, waiting for the master to attack again. He didn't dare risk a glance at his mother, instead searching inside himself for the strong, brave Nym who was sure of himself and in control.  
When Belgos slashed again, he had found him.

His mother and sister (who had stepped quietly out of the way) watched. His sister was grinning her crooked grin, which would have been friendly if not for the look in her eyes that accompanied it. His mother was standing perfectly still, watching and smiling her small, amused smile.

He did not see either of them, too busy playing his beautiful, deadly game. It was the farthest Belgos had ever pushed him and he welcomed the challenge, driving away all the worry inside him with the fire of being so marvelously, wonderfully alive. He was not tiring, still fighting with all his strength.

Finally, the matron had apparently seen enough. She said one single word in some language unknown to him. Irrational panic swept through his mind, and his body was hurled through the air to land against the far wall. He hit the wall with a groan, his perfect world rapidly fading away.

Thanks for reading and reviewing:) 


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, here, after a long, long time, is chapter 3. I've been re-reading this story and I realize that it's written very clumsily; my apologies for that, I'm trying to improve. Thanks to everyone and anyone who's reading and reviewing!

* * *

WhenNym woke up, he felt sore and battered. It took him a few moments to remember what had happened. He sighed and forced himself to climb out of bed.

Across the hall, the weapon master was running a fairly advanced kata. Nym watched Belgos for a few moments, partially because he wasn't sure what to say and partially because he wanted to see what he was doing wrong when he ran that kata.

Finally he said, "Master Belgos?"

The weapon master carefully sheathed his swords and walked over to Nym. "Yes?" He looked very serious about something.

"Am I going? Did I do okay?"

"Yes." said the weapon master again.

Nym stood up, ignoring the protests of his bruises. He reached under his bed for his swords, but they were not there. He blinked and spun around to the master.

"Where are they?" he demanded, slightly unsettled. Belgos had taught him to always have your weapons with you. Besides, they made him feel safer.

"There are no weapons allowed in the Academy." said the master. He looked at Nym, he seemed almost sad. He cleared his throat and said quickly, "Study hard, fight hard. Don't forget what I've taught you. Honor the Goddess." He fixed his student with a hard, penetrating glare and Nym felt the same way he had when he first met the master. Belgos then turned and purposefully walked away into his chambers. The door shut behind him and Nym stared at it, surprised.

"Did I make him mad?" he muttered to himself.

* * *

The weapon master leaned against the door, privately bidding farewell to his student. He prayed to his uncaring, unlistening Goddess that the boy would be safe.

* * *

Nym neatly packed his clothes and other neccesary items into a small bag. He felt terribly empty without his swords, but there was nothing he could do about it. He sighed heavily, got up and left the gym.

His sister was waiting for him outside. He opened the door, stepped out and when he closed the door behind him, there she was. He flinched and quickly bowed, stepping back unconsciously.

"Greetings, sister." he said in his most respectful tone. He had not seen her (she was the second oldest) in quite a while.

"Greetings, brother." she returned, mocking him slightly. "Get moving. I'm supposed to take you to Melee Magthere."

Nym had never been outside his house before, and when he left the large iron gate, he could only gape in awe at the dark, glorius beauty that surrounded him. Countless other houses stood menacingly, reaching up to the incredibly high ceiling. His sister rolled her eyes at him, grabbed the thin chain he wore around his neck and jerked it viciously. He snapped out of his trance and with a mumbled apology, followed her down the wide, crowded streets to the Academy.

When they arrived at Tier Breche, his sister pointed out the pyramid shaped fighter's school, informed him that if he did anything to disgrace his house she would beat him to a pulp and left.

Once inside Melee Magthere, he and the other first year students were herded into a large hall. There they stood and listened tothe Master of Loretalk incessantly. This was not exactly his idea of training to be a drow warrior, but he kept his mouth shut and attempted to listen.

* * *

Nym quickly adapted to the routine of the Academy. However, this did not mean he liked it. The discipline was strict, the students were put to work whenever they were not in class, and he rarely got a chance to practice swordfighting. Nonetheless, something happened there that would change the course of his life.

Nalfein was a thin, almost scrawny boy. His eyes were not the intense scarlet of his fellows, but rather a faded, watery pink. His mannerisms were incredibly unnerving, he would stand almost perfectly still, not doing anything, simply carefully watching everybody, listening to every sound. Dark elves are not the most friendly of races, but Nalfein was quickly marked an outcast.

On the third day of classes, Nym had taken advantage of a rare free period to go back to the dormitory and get something. Approaching the door, he noticed light coming from inside. Against his better judgement, he opened the door and was promptly hit in the eyes by the harsh light of a single candle. Squinting through the glare, he made out Nalfein, sitting in his usual quiet way on the edge of his bed. He was holding a piece of parchment in his hand, reading it by the light of the candle.

Upon Nym's entry, the other boy glanced up sharply. Seeing his classmate's discomfort, he blew out the candle. Then he sat back, folding the piece of paper in his lap, and looked solemnly at Nym.

Nym stared at him for a few minutes. "Uh...what's going on?" he asked lamely, after the aforementioned few minutes had passed without a word being extracted from the strange boy.

"I was reading a letter." Nalfein said quietly. He regarded Nym with his disorienting, pale eyes.  
"Are you going to tell?"

Nym was not sure that reading letters was forbidden. Nonetheless, he answered, still confused, "No. I won't tell." He and Nalfein looked at each other for another few minutes.

"It's not a normal letter, y'know." said the stick-thin boy.

"Uh..I didn't know." said Nym. Nalfein did not reply, so he added. "How is it not a normal letter?"

Nalfein bit his lip, an oddly...emotional action for this particular drow. He beckoned Nym over then and Nym, curious, came. He sat down beside Nalfein and waited while the other drow carefully relit the candle. A flash of pain shot through his head with the light, but his eyes slowly adjusted and he focused on the letter in Nalfein's hands.

"To our dear soon-to-be-acolyte,"

"We welcome you to the Order of Vhaerun."


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, here's Chapter 4! I've pretty much written this story's plot out already, so I can't really change anything. But thanks for the suggestions and reviews! Please keep reading and reviewing, I really appreciate it and I welcome any constructive criticism you might have to offer :)

* * *

Nym recoiled instinctively as he read the blasphemous words, but he could not deny the morbid curiousity that prompted him to continue reading;

"Please meet outside the east gate to the city in the black death of Narbondel. Bring any who you see fit to join our path with you. When you have received and read this message, burn it."

The two boys looked at each other and then, as if they had reached some unspoken agreement, Nalfein lowered the letter into the candle's flame.

That night, the two boys silently stayed awake untilMelee Magthere was quiet.It was strictly against the rules to leave Tier Breche until they had formally graduated, but they figured it didn't matter now anyway. If they were caught, it wouldn't be that rule that would get them in trouble.

It wasn't actually hard to leave the Academy. Nym had imaginedthere would be guards or something of the like, but it was surprisingly easy to escape. Too easy, to Nym's way of thinking, and he kept an eye out for any strange happenings.

Menzoberranzan was quiet at night, and the two students quickly made their way for the east gate. As they approached the gate, two guards stepped forward out of the shadows.

"Why are you leaving the city?" the first guard asked, admirably getting right to the point.

"We have to meet someone." Nalfein said honestly. Nym tried to keep his mouth shut and his fear under control.

"Who?" the guard queried suspiciously. "You two don't even look old enough to be graduated from the Academy."

"We're on an errand." snapped Nalfein, with the assurance of someone who has powerful backing. "Do you wish to answer to my Matron Mother about why we were late?"

Faced with the threat of an angry and powerful female, the guard stood down. It couldn't be that serious anyway, he thought.

"Go ahead." he said. The other guard opened the gate and they were through.

"Nice job." Nym signed to Nalfein when they were a safe distance from the guards. His heart was beating incredibly fast and he wasn't sure how much longer it would be before he ran back to Menzoberranzan, barged in on the Master of Melee Magthere and confessed every one of his sins. The whole journey seemed too simple; it could not be this effortless to commit a crime of such magnitude.

Nalfein looked at him. Despite his earlier skillful bluffing, he was breathing hard and now looked every bit as terrified as Nym felt.

The two boys stood there for a few minutes, waiting and getting increasingly frightened by the minute.

"Do you think it's a trap?" Nalfein signed, his fingers trembling so badly Nym could hardly make out the words.

Nym stared at his comrade. He was imagining all the times he had been punished for things which weren't even really crimes...such as not being able to run from one end of the house to the other in the time it took his amused sister to teleport. He was remembering how the whip felt when it bit into his skin, sending waves of shock and pain to every muscle in his body. How it would go numb for a while and then the terrible hurt would wake up and burn through his body like a wildfire. He knew that what they were doing now was the worst of all possible crimes, blasphemy, treason against Lolth. But...that little voice kept telling him that it would be worth all this fear, if only he could get free.

Just when Nym was considering running back to the Academy, climbing into his bunk and living out the rest of his days as a good little boy, a figure stepped out of the shadows. The figure beckoned once and then walked briskly off.

Nym and Nalfein exchanged looks, half excited, half terrified. Then they followed what was supposedly a Vhaerunite.

After several minutes of walking, the figure turned around and pulled off his hood, revealing the features of a handsome drow male.

"Come closer and join hands," he said, without any preamble. The two boys obeyed. The Vhaerunite bowed his head and murmured something under his breath. There was a disorienting 'shimmer' and when the world reassembled itself around them, they were standing in a small room.

Nalfein was regarding the stranger, as if sizing him up. Nym just openly gaped at him. Neither of them had ever seen a male work clerical magic before.

He responded to their amazed looks with a grin. He wasn't mocking them, it was more like he understood exactly how they felt.

"Come on and sit down." he said, gesturing to a table. He seemed much more at ease away from Menzoberranzan.

"So, er..." said Nym. "Where are we? Who are you all, exactly? What do we do now?" Nalfein merely continued watching the stranger in his unnerving way.

"We," said the Vhaerunite. "Are in a secret stronghold, several miles from Menzoberranzan. The Order of Vhaerun, as you know, is a group of renegade males who follow Lord Vhaerun, the son of Lolth. Lord Vhaerun gives us power, gives us the strength and courage we need to escape the priestesses of Lolth and their twisted ideals and make a real life for ourselves. You and your friend will shortly be oriented into the Order, when we decide a mission for you to undertake. We are glad that you have decided to join our ranks." He paused, looking at his new recruits for a few moments. "Alright, we do not want to keep a lot of Vhaerunites at our stronghold, for fear of attracting unwanted attention. Right now, you have no clerical powers and nothing really hard to hide. It is best if you return to the Academy and remain there. Explain your absence as business for Master Fithros."

"Er..." said Nym, "What's Master Fithros going to say about that?"

The Vhaerunite grinned again, more broadly this time. "He'll agree. He's a member of the Order as well."

Nym blinked and then laughed. Nalfein grinned almost as widely as the Vhaerunite.

As the two friends approached the gates of Tier Breche, mentally preparing their excuse in their heads, they realized there seemed to be some chaos around Melee Magthere. A master ran out to meet them, looking angry.

"Where in the Nine Hells were you?" he exploded. Despite apparently being angry, his face was drained and looked rather haggard. He seemed to be under a lot of stress.

"We were on business for Master Fithros." Nym lied glibly. His perfectly rehearsed lie did not, however, have the desired effect. The master's eyes flickered with...fear? He bit his lip.

"Er, you'd better follow me." he said. "They'll want to hear about this"  
He looked worriedly at the two boys, as if afraid they wouldn't obey him.  
They did, of course.

"Who's 'they'?" signed Nym to Nalfein as they walked.

Nalfein shrugged,"The Masters of Melee Magthere? I dunno, some figure of authority." (this was, of course, signed)

Nym privately wondered if the excuse of Master Fithros' business would be sufficient. He knew leaving the school before graduation was to put yourself in serious trouble, but he hadn't figured it to be this serious.

Up ahead (they were in a hallway of the school now), there were several priestesses and high priestesses. Nym and Nalfein exchanged looks. It was at least unusual to have such a great number of high-ranking females in Melee Magthere.

The master approached them, slowing his brisk pace and lowering his eyes as he got nearer. They stopped in front of the priestesses and all three males bowed.

The foremost high priestess gave the master a mildly angry look.  
"What now?" she asked, sounding annoyed.

"Er," he said, he was understandably nervous, "These two left the school, um, they said when they got back that they were on business for Master Fithros."

Upon hearing Fithros's name, practically every high priestess smirked.

"Great." said the apparent leader. "Good job, boy. Now get out of here." The master bowed, thanked her and left hurriedly.

Nym and Nalfein remained looking at the ground, slightly worried about what was going on, slightly nervous that the high priestess would somehow discover their betrayal, slightly jubilant that they didn't really have to be that afraid of her anymore.

Then they heard her chanting something quietly, under her breath. Suddenly, the world shimmered around them for the second time that night, and to their shock, they were sitting in a dungeon cell.

"What?" said Nalfein. He had dropped his calm demeanor now. "What the hell's going on? What did we do? How'd they find out?"

* * *

I'm trying to make this interesting and I hope it's working! Thank you for reading, please review, and like I said before, any criticism is welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, here's the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing, please keep it up. Constructive criticism is always welcome :)

* * *

Nym was standing where he had been teleported to. A terrible cold dismay was waking up in his stomach. He fell to a sitting position, buried his head in his hands and wished the icy ache inside him would stop so that his tears would unfreeze and he could cry.

Nalfein sat too, leaned against the dungeon wall and started to tremble. He tried to keep his mind from doing anything, because there were too many horrible things to think about.  
All of it had failed, somehow they'd found out, there was never going to be any freedom, any hope. What was going to happen to them now? What was the punishment for those who betrayed Lolth?

Some time later (neither of the boys were making an effort to find out how much time was passing) the high priestess arrived at their cell door, unlocked it and entered.

Nym glared at her defiantly for about two seconds before his gaze slid back to the floor and he started shaking.

Nalfein's knees were drawn up to his chest and he appeared to be gasping for air.

The priestess looked at both of them, her eyes cold, her face carefully neutral.

This lasted for a few minutes before Nym broke the silence. He didn't know what to do or say so he just blurted out that he was sorry. The high priestess snickered. Nym flinched. Nalfein's apparent breathing problem was worsening by the second.

"Master Fithros," said the priestess, seeming almost amused, "was just last night discovered to be a Vhaerunite. I suppose that you two are also traitors to the Goddess." There was a calm, calculated hatred in the way she said 'traitors to the Goddess'.

"Now, do you admit your guilt?" she asked. "Or would you like to have us rip it out of you?"

Helpless fear was swirling around inside Nym now. "I admit it." he said, in the most meek tone he could manage. This was a dumb idea, he thought. Stupid little boy...no one can get away. His hands were curled into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms.

Nalfein was choking now, apparently trying to talk but unable to get the words out. Nym stared at him, unable to help his friend.

The priestess shook her head and sighed, but she was grinning. She crossed the room and kicked Nalfein in the ribs. He fell over, wheezing, and Nym could see tears leaking out of his panicked eyes.

"He confesses too!" Nym said hoarsely.

"I can't hear him." said the priestess, nudging the boy with her boot.

"Please!" Nym could feel tears running down his own face. "He admits it, he just can't say anything right now. Please leave him alone!"

The high priestess rolled her eyes and came to stand over Nym. She leaned down, her face inches away from him. He cringed away from her.

In a soft, almost kind voice, she said, "You know, little boy, that you are in no position to be pleading for mercy for someone else."

He looked at the floor and bit his lip. There was really nothing he could say. It was over.

* * *

Six months later:

He had the knife. It was hidden in his hand and they had not seen it. 'Now,' he thought wryly, 'As I am about to die, I discover they have a weakness after all.' He stumbled slightly; his legs would not support him. All the combat skills he had spent so much of his life perfecting had ebbed away. His body was beaten, battered. Nalfein was dead already. Nym wasn't sad. He had cried enough. All the despair, all the hurt, all the rage had leaked out of his stinging eyes, ran in rivers of salt and blood and water down his scarred face, fallen onto the dungeon floor.

The priestesses walked at his side, holding the chains of his shackles. The one on the left was gripping his arm tightly; one more bruise. He entertained no foolish notions of killing them. He entertained no foolish notions of escape, or vengeance. He just wanted one triumph...he would kill himself. They would not have the satisfaction of destroying this Vhaerunite transgressor.

The thought did not give him any joy, really. He felt weary, useless, broken. But whatever tiny piece of determination still remained inside him had decided that they would not kill him. This would be one thing he would not fail in.

They reached the scaffold, the priestesses lifted him onto it. He was light, weighing probably around sixty-five pounds. Without them to support him, he weaved on the scaffold, struggling to keep his footing. He gripped the knife in his hand tighter.

One of the priestesses saw it. She reached up and gripped his wrist. She tried to take his knife away. The last dream died quietly, without so much as a whimper. He felt no hurt, just emptiness. They were right, and he surrendered. His fist uncurled and the knife dropped from his hand. He heard her quiet scoff as she picked it up. It seemed like he was underwater, drifting away.

Hands placed a noose around his neck, tightened it. The priestesses stepped back. Someone shouted a command, from far away. The noose was slowly cranked up and he choked. His hands clawed reflexively at the air; his body was still determined to survive, even if his mind was wiser. The demons shimmered into existence below him. They did not question their sudden appearance here; they knew their purpose. By Lolth's ironic mercy, he lost consciousness before one of them took a bite.

* * *

Okay, so I finished a story! The method of execution is kind of weird, my sister suggested it to make things interesting and I figured it couldn't hurt... Please review and tell me what you think!


End file.
